


I Can't Hear You, I Don't Fear You Now

by Kirazalea



Series: Breathe In, Breathe Out [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batwoman (Comic), Justice League - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Dick Grayson-centric, Family Feels, Flirting, Gen, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Interviews, Objectification, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Assault, Rape Recovery, Scarecrow's Fear Toxin (DCU), Secret Identity, Sexual Harassment, a good chunk of them anyways, a solid chunk of time went into trying to come up with names for them all, aka i didn't want to shit on an actual character but needed someone to be creepy to dick, bc of fear toxin, me giving the spotlight to the batfam members that weren't in the first fic, original characters on the other hand are literally just there for plot reasons, really letting the girls shine in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:15:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24920668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirazalea/pseuds/Kirazalea
Summary: Secrets come to light and, as they often do, bats get protective5 times Dick's family stood up for him, and 1 time he stood up for himself
Relationships: Cassandra Cain & Dick Grayson, Catalina Flores/Dick Grayson, Cullen Row & Harper Row, Dick Grayson & Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Harper Row, Dick Grayson & Kate Kane, Dick Grayson & Wally West, Kate Kane/Maggie Sawyer, Miriam Delgado/Dick Grayson, Stephanie Brown & Dick Grayson, Stephanie Brown & Tim Drake, Tim Drake & Cullen Row, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Duke Thomas & Jason Todd
Series: Breathe In, Breathe Out [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1802104
Comments: 96
Kudos: 823





	I Can't Hear You, I Don't Fear You Now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IthilGalad75](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IthilGalad75/gifts), [snowlikestardust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowlikestardust/gifts).



> a certain someone asked for a sequel to the last fic, and i (finally) delivered  
> title from could have been me by the struts

After a heart to heart with his younger brothers in the middle of his living room, Dick let himself be talked into telling Bruce and Alfred about what had happened to him. What had _been_ happening to him for nearly a decade now. He’d been reluctant at first, not wanting Bruce to know about how broken Dick actually was. There was a very large part of him that, no matter how pissed he could get with the older man, craved his acceptance and approval; he didn’t want Bruce to look at him as a failure, even if that’s what he was.

He had eventually given in and agreed to go through with it, though, when Tim promised that he would go with and let them know what had happened between him and Ra’s. 

He still didn’t want Bruce to know, a deep seated shame rising in him every time he thought about it, but his desire for Tim to get the help and support he needed was stronger (And yes, Jason, he _did_ know that he was a hypocrite; he’d spent most of childhood learning from the best, after all, and they didn’t call him Goldie for nothing).

Bruce’s reaction had been… not what he was expecting, honestly. Tim had gone first, telling them as clinically as he could about what Ra’s had planned, and all of the shit he’d gotten into with the man while searching for Bruce. Dick had felt a pang of guilt, knowing that he could have spared Tim some of that pain if he hadn’t been so overwhelmed, but he knew there was nothing he could do about it other than be there for Tim now. 

And sure, he’d figured that Bruce would turn into his best impression of a statue when Dick told him about Mirage and Tarantula (Tim chiming in helpfully with the details that Dick had _forgotten_ to include), but when he still hadn’t said anything after Dick finished explaining the way he’d been treated by the media and other heroes since he’d finished puberty (Tim once again sharing his perspective of it, which was… a little more illuminating), Dick started to worry.

Alfred was pulling them both into an embrace by the time Bruce finally came back to the land of the living.

Before their talk, Dick couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Bruce cry. Afterwards, the answer was easy and recent.

He’d apologized to Tim, feeling responsible for putting him in Ra’s’ path. Tim had hugged him, told him that he didn’t blame anyone other than the millenia old manic for everything he’d suffered in those months, and the ones since. Bruce and Alfred had shared a look then, and the butler had gently pulled Tim away, asking for help in preparing something to eat after such a taxing conversation. Tim, the ever observant kid that he was, went easily, shooting a reassuring look to Dick on the way out.

They’d barely been out of sight before Bruce launched himself at Dick, clinging to him like a drowning man in the ocean. Dick had tensed, not expecting to be pulled into a hug so suddenly, and Bruce had backed off immediately, apologizing more in those next few moments than Dick thought he’d ever heard in the rest of his life combined.

Bruce didn’t do apologies, even when he knew he was in the wrong. Bruce didn’t do emotions. These were facts Dick had known nearly his entire life. He’d been better when Dick was young, a freshly traumatized orphan that needed love and care, but as he’d grown up, grown away from the child that needed to be protected, so too Bruce had become more distant until Dick sometimes couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as him after the way he dealt with Damian or Steph. But apparently, Bruce had been saving up all of his emotional outbursts the past few years and was now cashing them in.

The tears Dick had seen gathering in Bruce’s eyes didn’t fall again, but that didn’t stop the moisture in Dick’s own eyes from spilling over. He listened to Bruce apologize over and over for never noticing, for pushing Dick away to the point where he felt like he couldn’t come to him for help. It had tugged at some deep part of Dick that just wanted to be told by his father that everything would be okay as Bruce held him close, both of them trying unsuccessfully to hide their sniffles from each other.

Dick knew it wasn’t an instant solution for them; there were far too many offenses on both sides for things to magically be okay, and they were both very stubborn and very proud men, but it was a huge first step toward fixing what had been sitting broken between them for so long. Bruce promised to try and do better, for all of them, and Dick knew he meant it. Dick promised to try and accept help a little more often.

And it wasn’t like he sent out a memo to everyone or put a list of all his various traumas on the fridge, but sometimes it _did_ pay off to live in a family of detectives and vigilantes.

* * *

Dick really hated end of the world events. They put the people he loved most in danger, they had all experienced a personal loss at one time or another because of them, they were extremely stressful, and they were generally just a hassle to deal with, even when everything went as perfectly as possible.

The aftermath, when everyone would retreat back to the Watchtower for a cool-down and pass-out session, was also prime territory for other heroes to notice him. The only time that was _worse_ was when Dick needed to do a solo team-up.

Dick had mostly stuck by Wally and Bart, who had sped off the second he caught sight of Tim and Conner talking with Cassie. He was counting down the seconds until he could leave and head back to Bludhaven; the end of the world tended to inspire the best _and_ worst in people, and there would always be some thug or villain that decided to take advantage of the fear and chaos, so Nightwing never got much downtime until the next day had already dawned and he was just barely passing out face first in bed.

He talked with the speedster for a while, getting an amusing update on Trickster’s latest antics (holding a bank hostage by trapping the civilians in brightly colored bubblegum, and damn, sometimes Dick was jealous of Central’s Rogues). He had also been trying to keep an eye on Damian, who had been pulled out of the shadows by Clark’s son. He’d been doing a lot better and even enjoyed spending time with Jon, even if he wouldn’t admit it, but Dick would still rather be safe than sorry.

It was because his attention had been split between so many things at once that he hadn’t noticed the group near him whispering until one of them walked up to him, pulling his focus forward once more.

“Hey. I’m Nephrite.”

She must have been a more recent addition to the League’s roster, because Dick could honestly say that he had never heard of her before in his life.

Wally stopped mid sentence, and Dick could see him turn toward them out of the corner of his eye. He looked like he didn’t recognize her either, though he hid it well with the cowl.

Nephrite shot him a dazzling smile, lighting up her features and softening the edges that were still sharp from the recent battle. Everyone was still on edge, and more than a little keyed up on adrenaline. Dick knew that when that finally hit, most of them would crash pretty hard, especially the people that had never been involved in a fight like this before. 

“Hi,” Dick replied politely, though he was slightly miffed that she’d interrupted Wally without even hesitating.

“That sure was some battle, huh?” she mused.

“No kidding,” Wally said, drawing her attention to him. Her eyes raked up and down his form, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, and Dick felt queasy from the practiced movement. 

“I think you may have a little problem over by the buffet table,” Dick told Wally casually, pointing toward Bart, who looked like he had grabbed an entire carton of cottage cheese and several roasted chickens.

“Shit,” Wally muttered, already shooting off toward the teen. Dick thought he saw Wally look back at him in the split second before he was gone; he looked almost… guilty?

“Hate to see him leave, love to watch him go,” Nephrite quipped, humor and something smoother laced in her purr.

Dick swallowed, uncomfortable on behalf of his friend. “Yeah. He’s a great guy, but when he’s near, you’re likely to run out of food in the near future.”

She laughed, the sound ringing out softly like a bell. “Not quite what I meant.” She moved a little closer to him. “For example, I’d hate to see you go, too. Though maybe I could follow you out when you do leave?”

Her hands were placed gently on his chest, even as it tightened in response. He brought his hands up, carefully grabbing his wrists and pushing them away from him.

“I don’t think that would be a very good idea,” he responded slowly.

She batted her eyes at him, no mask to cover up her admittedly pleasant looking face. “Ah, come on. Don’t you want to have a little fun? Destress a little after the almost-end of the world?”

Dick had seen too many ‘almost- end of the world’s for that line to even remotely tempt him; several of them had included holding one of his brothers in his arms as they sobbed over the death of a loved one.

He figured Nephrite would learn that for herself eventually.

“I need to get back to my city,” he said instead, already looking around for Damian. Bruce was caught up in debriefs and meeting with the other founders and had asked that Dick make sure Damian made it back to the manor without too many bruised egos left in his wake.

Nephrite took a step toward him as he took one back. “I could help you out,” she offered, the tone of her voice indicating that she wasn’t just talking about patrol. 

“He said no,” a young voice stated with a hard voice from behind him.

Dick turned around to see Damian standing there, Jon floated awkwardly at a distance, though he was watching the confrontation with concerned eyes.

 _Shit,_ he didn’t want the kid to have to see this. Jon was old enough to punch a few robots or interdimensional beings out of the air on occasion, but he shouldn’t have to deal with things like this yet.

Then again, neither should Damian.

Nephrite took a step back again, to Dick’s absolute delight. “This is Robin,” he introduced. Everyone in the League knew who Robin was; they had since before Jason had taken on the cape. It was also common knowledge that, regardless of whether or not they were actually related, since most of the community wasn’t privy to that information, the Bats were all very close, and Nightwing acted as an older brother figure to most of them.

If there was one thing Dick had learned over the years, it’s that bringing along a little brother kind of killed the mood.

Nephrite seemed to regain a little of her confidence and smiled down at Damian. “Well, he didn’t actually _say_ no,” she argued, turning her smile on him again.

Dick missed it, already turned toward Damian and begging him with his eyes and body language not to make a scene in front of literally _everyone._

Damian narrowed his eyes behind the mask, his face pinching a little tighter. “Many victims of assault also _‘don’t actually say no,’”_ he countered, and Dick could hear the anger in his words. “If you’re going to condemn their attackers and take them down regardless, perhaps you should work a little harder to practice what you preach.”

Nephrite looked stunned, her eyes wide as she stared, but Damian, apparently, wasn’t done yet. “For example, I grew up in the League of Assassins. I was taught to kill from birth. Yet, when I joined Batman, I turned away from those teachings and swore to live by his code; to never kill. After all, how can I stand at his side, denouncing killers, when I subscribe to the same justifications as them?”

So he _had_ been paying attention when Tim talked to him about the value of subtly; he would be so proud. Though it was still a little more direct than anything Tim would’ve said, it was a vast improvement from what Dami might have done a year ago.

Nephrite seemed to catch on to the threat and danger that underlied those words, as well as the chastisement, and she left, flustered. 

Dick tried to hide his smile, not wanting to encourage him, but also not willing to admonish the behavior.

“Are you ready to leave?” he asked instead.

Damian stared at him seriously for a moment before nodding, turning back to Jon who had floated a little closer upon Nephrite’s exit. Dick left them to say goodbye, ruffling Damian’s hair as he passed on his way over to do the same with Wally, who was now showing Bart how to successfully sneak off with a platter’s worth of sandwiches in the various pockets of his suit.

* * *

Dick was panicking. He was lost, he was _alone,_ and he was panicking.

Jason had called for backup on an unexpected Scarecrow appearance, and Dick had immediately dropped his patrol route to race after him. He knew exactly how horrible of an idea it was to try and face Crane alone, especially since they had no idea if he’d changed his formula in the time it had been since he’d broken out of Arkham, so he’d quickly diverted toward their location. 

Getting clotheslined the second he entered the building and having his mask knocked off wasn’t part of the plan, but things rarely went according to plan for any of them. Jason had seen the scuffle and immediately decked the thug to give Dick a chance to grab his mask again, but it was kicked out of his reach and before he could react, he got a full dose to the face. Jason’s enraged shout had become a little distorted in his ears, mixing with Crane’s cold laughter that bounced off the wall around him. He’d stumbled his way to his feet, knowing that he needed to get out of the potential combat zones before he was too incapacitated to fight. As he looked up, briefly considering the same window he’d come in through, the high ceiling seemed to elongate, the window getting further and further out of reach. He heard the distant sound of a body hitting the floor with a sickening crunch behind him, and shot toward the door instead, trying to get away from the sound and sight that had haunted him since he was a child.

He injected himself with the antidote as soon as he stepped outside, and his vision cleared up just a little, his heartbeat slowing down just enough to not be fatal, but the sound still rang in his ears and Dick cursed. 

Crane _had_ changed his formula. 

The antidote seemed enough to stave off the most immediate of the effects, but he wasn’t safe. He didn’t know how long he had until it became too much for him and he lost it again.

Just as he was psyching himself up to take to the rooftops, the very idea filling him with terror, he was picked up from behind and slammed into the ground. Dick threw his attacker off and clumsily got his feet underneath him again, noticing that he was now surrounded by three very large men. Normally, those odds would be laughable, but Dick could feel the way his heart sped up now. 

The one currently behind him chuckled and Dick’s blood began to feel like ice in his veins. Another one took a swipe at him, managing to clip the back of his thigh as Dick jerked out of the way.

The touch made his breathing speed up too.

They had noticed.

“What’s wrong, pretty boy?” one of them called, and it echoed around in Dick’s head too much for him to tell which one.

“Don’t like being touched?” another one jeered, or maybe it was the same one. Dick could barely hear it over the sound of his heart and breathing in his ears.

 _Goddammit,_ he’d been so careful after Catalina, making sure that he never got caught flat footed by Crane. He’d known that if he got pinned, regardless of the context, it would be game over.

He’d grown used to the comments about his bare legs in the Robin uniform, learned to block out the catcalls and taunts from the hired help a long time ago, even if they still nagged at his mind sometimes, still made him feel a little sick. But after Bludhaven, he knew exactly what he’d see if he got hit with Fear Toxin, and that wasn’t something he could risk.

As always, however, it appeared he wouldn’t have much of a choice.

The man behind kicked something at him, pulled his attention away, and another one took advantage of that, rushing him and tackling him to the ground. Dick was already screaming, begging for it to _stop,_ the poison in his veins doing nothing to help as the man climbed over him, pinning him down as he rained blow after blow down onto Dick’s torso, more hands running over his neck, his chest, his _thigh._

The punches didn’t hurt nearly as much as the weight, the reminder of what came next. He couldn’t bring himself to care if they beat him until he stopped breathing, he just wanted him _off._

 _Get off me, get off me, get off_ **_please-_ **

“Get _off_ of him!”

He’d barely even noticed that the weight was being lifted off of him a moment later, a furious yell splitting the air around him, too lost in his fear and the smell of perfume and a relentless laugh and _hands._

“Nightwing!”

Dick forced his eyes open as he gulped down each breath, feeling like he was dying as he clutched at his head.

He could see a figure in front of him; a woman, with a worried expression on her face. Dick had almost flinched away again before something caught his attention.

The woman had blond hair.

Not black.

_Not black._

Dick forced himself to calm down, to climb out of the pit in his mind that smelled like rain and blood. 

“Bat- Batgirl?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

Stephanie nodded, looking slightly calmer as Dick recognized her. “I’m here,” she promised. “I’m real.”

Dick’s breathing evened out just a bit, just enough to no longer be dangerous.

Steph was paler than normal, her hands shaking just a little too much. She stared at him, visible concern and the beginnings of horror and grief clouding her face. But she smiled at him. It was small, it was still a little scared, but it was there.

Something in Dick’s chest loosened just a little.

* * *

There was a reason Dick didn’t do TV interviews very often anymore, and it was because he _hated_ them. They were always filmed in front of a live audience, always broadcast as they were shot, with no time to do anything other than react to anything that might come up.

The fact that Cass was standing beside him was the only thing that kept him from calling the whole thing off right then.

She looked lovely, a tailored suit that tastefully showed off her figure only aiding her natural grace. Next to her, in his rather plain, if expensive, suit, Dick hoped that maybe, just this one time, he wouldn’t have all eyes on him.

Stephanie and Tim had helped him get ready that morning, Tim helping him pick out something to wear that would look sophisticated but understated enough to not draw undue attention (a skill he’d apparently gained during his stint as Wayne Enterprises CEO) while Steph had given her opinions on each suit. She had very artfully let him know that the first one he’d tried on had complimented his backside very well and made him look put together, but still fun and just a little flirty when he flashed his press smile.

He’d changed out of it immediately.

Between their help and Cassandra’s soft smile dazzling the crew backstage, Dick felt better about the situation.

The crowd roared, yelling out and clapping loudly, and the stage manager waved them forward, giving a thumbs up as he pulled the curtain back for them.

Dick took a deep breath, plastering his smile on as he exited, Cassandra just ahead of him. They both acknowledged the audience, waving broadly to the group as the hostess of the show stood up to greet them. She pulled Cass into a quick hug, kissing the air beside her cheek, doing the same for Dick as she tugged him close. Her hands lingered just barely over his arms as he pulled away, not enough for anyone to see.

Dick hid the shaking in his thigh by crossing his legs as he sat down next to Cass on the red couch. He leaned back into the seat, draping his arm over the back of it behind Cass’s neck, the picture of someone who had been in the spotlight their entire life.

“Thank you for coming, we’re so glad to have you here!” she said, a perfect smile gracing her face. Dick recognized it for the facade that it was; Carrie Castle, after all, was an actress as well as a reporter, and she did her job damn well.

“Thank you for having us,” Dick replied, matching her smile and the polite script she read off of word for word. There was a rhythm to these things, something Dick had long since mastered.

“So,” Carrie said, moving swiftly forward with the excited gusto her job required, “tell us how you’ve been, what you’ve both been up to!”

He and Cass had already decided that he would handle a majority of the talking. It’s what he was known for, and he had it down to an art.

“Cass here just had a _wonderful_ ballet performance the other week,” he touted, the role of the doting big brother coming far more naturally than any other that he had. “She was phenomenal, an angel on the stage.” On cue, Cass smiled shyly, ducking down against his praise. The audience aww-ed, a few kind laughs sounding out. 

He’d given Cass a reason to be embarrassed, quiet; they’d bought it hook, line, and sinker.

“That’s fantastic!” Carrie exclaimed, laughing a little herself. She then turned her gaze onto Dick. “And what about you, Richard, what have you been up to?”

Dick smiled playfully, pushing back the way it made him feel a little sleazy. “Please, call me Dick. Everybody does.” She already knew this. Most of the city did.

She laughed, sounding delighted. “Dick,” she corrected warmly, leaving the ball in his court.

“Oh, not much,” he teased, a secret smile directed toward the audience. “I’ve been rather preoccupied with a… certain project.”

Carrie leaned forward, eyes sharpening even as her face stayed pleasantly engaged. “Oh? _Do_ tell.”

“Well, you know how much Bruce loves helping charities around Gotham. A new project caught his eye a few months ago, and he roped Tim and I in along with him,” he confided, as if it were a heavy burden to be forced into the family business. The crowd snickered quietly, right on cue.

“And would this charity happen to have a name?” Carrie inquired, a single immaculate eyebrow raising as her red lips curled up a little more.

“Ah ah ah,” he chided, raising his hand dramatically, “a lady never tells,” he joked; the crowd laughed again. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for the official press release, just like everybody else.”

It was a fine line that Bruce had learned how to navigate years ago, before Dick came into his life. Stringing the public along a little built up hype, gave them time to put pressure on the upper class to donate. Because if _Bruce Wayne_ was personally backing a charity, clearly they could do a lot of good. It led to favorable press for the rich and more money being funneled into the neighborhoods that actually needed it. If you hinted at it too early, though, the public would lose patience and interest. The press release for _this_ charity was a week and a half from now.

It was just another form of tightrope walking for Dick after all these years of watching and internalizing that sense of balance. 

“Well, I’m sure we’ll _all_ look forward to that,” Carrie acquiesced, her perfectly manicured hands coming up in mock defense as she backed off. She smiled at him again as she lowered them, her smile a little more pointed.

“Well, if you won’t share anything about work,” she pouted with a sympathetic head tilt, “how about a different kind of life update?”

 _Here it comes,_ he thought.

“You moved back to Bludhaven recently after an extended stay in Gotham; any reason for the departure, or just needing a change of pace?”

Lois had sat him down once, not long after he’d left Bruce and Jason had just barely come onto the scene. She’d walked him through how reporters are trained to sniff out a story, the way they’d jump on the slightest detail and loop it around you until you admitted to a scandal that even _you_ weren’t aware of. She’d taught him a few general ways to sidestep those traps, to spot them for what they were and lead the conversation away as naturally as possible, knowing that he would be hounded after for a statement on his departure, on his feelings about Bruce’s newest pet project, about being replaced.

He silently thanked her for the lesson, as he often did. He’d need to send her a fruit basket or something.

“Well,” he said, bashfully pushing his hair out of his face as if feeling sheepish and looking for an outlet. “You know the saying: you can take the kid out of the circus…” He trailed off meaningfully, the audience laughed a little again, and he smiled at them. “Really, I was just looking to branch out. I travelled a lot when I was young, and a few years ago when I hit adulthood. I love my family, but sometimes I just need to get out into the world again. There’s so much out there to experience, and not all of it can be done from the inside of a manor.” He winked at the crowd, setting them off again. Play up the rags to riches story; remind them that he hadn’t always had more money that God set in front of him; keep him sympathetic and humble to the masses, down to earth in a way Bruce, Tim, and Damian couldn’t be, a way that Cass didn’t know how to be, and Jason wasn’t allowed to be. One day, Duke might have to learn how to play the same role, and when that time came, Dick would help him as much as he could, but for now, he was allowed to stay out of the public eye for the most part.

Carrie laughed with her audience, the corners of her eyes crinkling in apparent amusement and _oh,_ she was _good._

She leaned forward just slightly onto her desk as it quieted again, looking like she was telling him a secret. “And there was no _other_ reason? A special someone, maybe?” she prompted.

Dick laughed goodnaturedly, consciously forcing his jaw not to clench. “No, no, nothing like that,” he assured her, both because it was the truth and because it was none of her business either way.

“Oh?” she said, eyebrow raised playfully again. “Well, are you in the market?” she joked. 

It didn’t feel like a joke. 

“After all, you’re a handsome young man, any girl would be lucky to manage a catch like you,” she complimented.

It didn’t feel like a compliment.

It felt like a trap; and it made Dick feel cheap when the audience just laughed at him.

Always laughing. 

You’d think in a town that the Joker terrorized every few months, there’d be less laughter. Maybe they had all flown in from out of town.

Mirage had laughed a lot, too. 

So had the Titans, after she’d left. After Kori had taken a break from the team to get away from him.

The smile was now frozen on Dick’s face, still just as charming to the audience, he knew, but tasteless to him as he tried frantically to remember anything Lois had said.

The laughter wasn’t helping him focus.

“I’m afraid I’m not looking to be on the market myself,” he said cheekily. He had to be very careful how he played this. Too far to one side, and he’d be dealing with articles about how he was a sexist pig; too far in the other, and he’d be hearing about Grayson the slut for the next small eternity.

Just another balancing act.

He’d been doing them on his own nearly his entire life.

“I’m not allowing him to share himself until after my next performance, at _least,”_ Cassandra spoke up petulantly. She grabbed his arm, which was still glued to the back of the couch, and wrapped it around her, leaning into him.

At potentially dangerous heights, though, it never hurt to carry a pole with you, to ground you and help balance you out as you held on for dear life.

“A little jealous, are we?” Carrie quipped. The audience laughed again at Cass’s exaggerated nod. Dick could see the way Carrie was frustrated by the derailing of her question, but she hid it well.

“People always look at him,” Cass explained, sounding adorably put out about it. “It feels like there’s always someone that wants to throw themselves at him, and it doesn’t leave any of his attention for his family,” she pouted.

The audience aww-ed again as Cass cuddled against him, and he squeezed his arm around her shoulders as the slight curtain of her hair hid the way he swallowed thickly.

 _Thank you,_ he yelled with every inch of his body. Her soft smile told him the message was received.

“He’s quite the charmer then?” Carrie pressed, her eyes raking over his body; the way his arm around Cass pulled the shirt tight across his chest, and the leg he had extended to accommodate his sister pulled his pants just a little tighter, just enough to highlight the muscle that was hidden there.

“No,” Cass argued. “He’s just very pleasant to be around. Most of the time, at least,” she teased, effortlessly drawing another laugh from the crowd, and Dick removed his arm from around her, pressing a hand to his chest as he acted hurt by the insinuation. 

If it had the added bonus of letting the fabric fall away from his skin, hiding him once more, then oh well.

Careful planning led to happy accidents.

* * *

Harper really did work too much. 

Coming from someone that knew Tim and Bruce and _Alfred,_ what that statement really meant was that Harper was burning the candle at every angle possible, and a few that shouldn’t have been, but she made them work anyway.

Between her job with the electrical grid, helping Leslie at the clinic, school, and her occasional nightly proclivities, Dick knew she needed a break. 

He’d enlisted Tim and Stephanie to help, having them hang out with Cullen while he took Harper to dinner and a night on the town, with a pit stop at a new modern art exhibit.

She had really enjoyed the piece made of wiring that had lit up the entire room in a kaleidoscope of colors. She’d even been able to meet the artist and talk with him about how he’d pulled it off, Dick watching with a fond smile from the corner.

He’d have to thank Babs for the idea before he went on patrol tomorrow.

Harper still hadn’t run out of things to talk about with regards to the exhibit an hour later.

“I mean, the sheer _amount_ of capacitors he’d need to not overload the whole damn _block_ if he added onto it is _mind boggling,”_ she ranted, and Dick couldn’t help but laugh at how worked up she was getting. Her hands were thrown into the air as she flipped around mid stride to look at him, eyes wide and excited.

Dick grinned at her happily. “How many capacitors _would_ he need to use?”

He was so busy enjoying the smile tilting Harper’s lips up that he almost missed the hushed conversation going on behind him. 

“Bruce’s _Wayne’s_ kid? The hell would _he_ be in the Narrows for?”

“Dude, I’m telling you: that’s him!”

Dick kept his smile up, looked into the windows of a shop across the street to see two men walking behind them. They looked to be around his age, give or take a few years, one of them a little bigger with a bushy beard, while the other, the one that was convinced of Dick’s identity, was a little shorter, more wiry. His hand curled into a fist where it rested in his hoodie.

He was so glad Bruce had let it slip to the media that Dick Grayson attended self-defense lessons as a child after one too many kidnappings where he’d been helpless to fight back without blowing his cover.

“And what, _Dick Grayson_ is going to be slumming it in a hoodie with a chick that looks barely legal?” the deeper voice asked, disbelief coloring his voice.

“Hey man, rich people do some freaky shit, you don’t know,” the other countered, and Dick felt disgust roiling in his gut.

They thought he was sleeping with Harper.

Harper, who was barely 17.

Dick had turned 25 a few months ago.

“I mean… I _guess_ if she took out the piercings, maybe.” He still sounded dubious.

“Dude, he grew up with Wayne. You’ve seen him in interviews and shit, you don’t think he turned out the same way?”

Dick had always hated Bruce’s playboy persona. He’d toned it down after the fourth or fifth kid, but by then, the damage had been done.

Harper was still talking, but Dick could tell she’d noticed them as she continued walking backward. She kept going on about electrical grids and currents, no one but Dick able to see the way her eyes had focused.

They had both slowed down a little as they got closer to Harper’s apartment, not sure yet if they needed to keep walking until they lost their tails, but they seemed to have caught on to the drop in pace.

“Ain’t she a little young for you?” the gruffer one called out.

Harper slowly stopped talking, her eyes locked onto their figures as Dick turned to face them.

“You don’t want to go home with _him,_ sweetheart,” the other one sneered. “I’m sure you’re far from the first person he’s brought home this week. It ain’t worth the money if that’s what he’s offering.”

Dick wasn’t sure if it was the insinuation about her that did it or the thinly-veiled accusation they’d directed at him, but whichever it was had Harper narrowing her eyes and glaring. 

“Thanks for the advice, asshole, but I’m not a hooker,” she ground out. “His little brother is friends with mine, we were out on a grocery run for more snacks because they couldn’t be bothered to get off their asses and do it themselves.”

It was fairly common knowledge that Duke had grown up in the Narrows. It was entirely possible he was the brother they were talking about, and that he would know two random kids from the area.

“Then where’re the snacks?” the shorter demanded, staring hatefully at Dick.

Dick could’ve kissed Harper if it wouldn’t just convince these two that they were right. His hand closed around the bag of skittles in his hoodie, pulling them out and waving them in the air between them. He’d brought them to share after dinner if they got peckish, but the museum had successfully grabbed all of Harper’s attention, and the bag was still unopened.

“Want some?” he offered. “They’re wild berry. We already had chips and cookies, but they were craving something fruity.” He shrugged, projecting _what can you do?_ with his body language and facial expressions. “There’s just no pleasing them sometimes,” he lamented.

“What else you got in those pockets?” the other one asked, still squinting at him suspiciously.

Dick shoved his hand back in his pocket, carefully pulling out his keyring and wallet. He only showed them for a moment, wildly aware that they were still in the part of town that ranked second highest on the Gotham City _I’m-going-to-get-robbed-or-shot-here_ list, losing out on the champion title only because Crime Alley existed. He patted down his front to show that there were no other lumps there before hiding the three items away again.

“I prefer them a little older, promise,” he said, hoping to defuse the tension so that they could leave. “I heard way too many stories from Jason back when Bruce first took him out of Crime Alley to even _think_ about it.” They looked a little uncomfortable as their gazes shifted off of him. 

Bringing up the dead kid always got people off your back. And he _had_ been on the receiving end of several of his brother’s rants, so it wasn’t like that was a total lie.

The one that hadn’t fully believed in the beginning reached up to scratch at his beard, looking a little awkward.

“Can never be too careful,” he muttered, his voice carrying just enough for Dick to catch the words.

“Hey, I get it,” Dick assured him. “Honestly, I’m glad that _someone_ in this town is willing to step in on occasion.” 

He shot them a small smile, feeling the way his skin crawled just a bit. They’d been convinced that Dick was nothing more than another rich guy that liked to entertain himself with young poor kids that were half his weight drenched.

Guess he wasn’t known for sleeping around only by other heroes. At least _they_ assumed he was just a slut, not a rapist. 

Small mercies.

Neither apologized, though the bigger one nodded at him as they turned around and walked away. 

Dick blew out a breath, trying to shake out the remaining fear and slimy feeling that had taken up residence in his body without actually giving in to the urge to move. 

* * *

The only thing Dick disliked more than live appearances and interviews was galas.

They’d always come easily to him, that wasn’t the problem; growing up as a performer had come in handy in many aspects of his life. No, Dick disliked them because, as he’d gotten older, he’d caught more and more eyes. Seemingly overnight, he went from the cute sweetheart that Bruce had taken in to feel good to the handsome heir apparent of an insanely large fortune. Instead of dealing with absent mothers and the elder heiresses that liked to pat his cheek and call him darling on their way over to Bruce, he had to deal with those same women throwing themselves or their daughters in _his_ path.

And it wasn’t like he could just tell them to go away. He had a role to play just as much as Bruce did; Dickie Grayson was a charmer and a performer, taking after both of his fathers. He was an airhead that wouldn’t recognize these women’s true intentions if they spelled it out for him.

That facade hadn’t done him any favors in his career as a police officer, and it had been an intricate dance between concealing his identity and progressing in his job.

Dick sipped at the flute of champagne he’d been nursing for the better part of an hour, mourning the days when he was able to act at least semi-competent under his own name. 

He sighed inaudibly into his glass as yet another woman in a tight fit dress approached him.

“Ms. Hardwick,” Dick greeted her.

She smiled and gently pushed her hair over her shoulder, tastefully subtle in her desire to draw his attention down to the plunging neckline of her dress. “Please, I’m Victoria to you,” she insisted.

Dick raised his glass to her with a smile. “Victoria.”

Her mouth curved upward as she traced the rim of her own glass with a single finger, her eyes never leaving his. 

“How have you been?” she asked politely.

“Good. And you?”

She tucked her head down shyly, seeming pleased by the question. “I’ve been well,” she responded, looking up at him through her long lashes. “Could’ve been better, though.”

Dick took another slow sip. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

She tipped her head in acknowledgment, taking a sip herself. “So,” she said, “where has Bruce been keeping you lately?”

There it was; the familiar, _languide_ way her tongue curled around his father’s name, the same as everyone else in this city that thought they knew him, felt entitled to him.

No one he cared about said his name like that.

“Oh, I’ve been around,” Dick answered, swirling the liquid in his glass lightly. It probably cost more than Dick’s rent.

She laughed lightly, like he’d told an amusing story. “Well, I know we all missed you at last year’s charity auction. I hope you’ll stick around a little longer,” she said coyly, bringing her glass up to her red stained lips.

Dick _almost_ wished someone would come and hold him hostage if it meant getting him away from this conversation.

Having other heroes flirt with him wasn’t something he enjoyed, but at least they were generally forthcoming with their intentions. Socialites never had so much courtesy, always dancing around in a conversation, never saying what they actually meant. That was far more Tim and Bruce’s arena than his, even if he was just as good at it.

Victoria took a step closer, bringing herself firmly into Dick’s space; a bold move.

“Oh, _Dick,”_ a teasing voice rang out from behind him, a hand falling lightly against the space between his shoulder blades. “Did you bring a new _friend_ for me? You shouldn’t have,” she purred, amusement dripping from every inch of her.

Dick grinned at her, his first genuine smile of the night. “Kate. How’s Maggie doing?” he asked warmly.

Kate made quite the sight in her little black number, contrasting nicely with her creamy skin and short red hair that highlighted her jawline.

“Oh, she’s doing _quite_ well,” Kate assured him, her perfectly lined eyes seeming to sparkle in the light. 

Where he and Bruce despised their public personas, Kate delighted in the chance to play the playboy. She enjoyed watching the rich and powerful of Gotham squirm under her ministrations as much as they seemed to enjoy doing the same to Dick.

Victoria took a couple steps back, as surreptitiously as she could. “Kathy,” she greeted, a slight strain in her voice.

“Tori,” Kate simpered back. “How have you been?”

“Just fine, thank you.” Victoria’s eyes were carefully glancing around the room. “I’m sorry to have to leave so soon, but I think I see Andrew waving me over,” she apologized.

Andrew being her fiancé.

“Already?” Kate pouted, placing a hand lightly on Victoria’s arm. Victoria stepped away, letting Kate’s hand slide off as quickly as possible without tearing her own arm away.

“So sorry,” she smiled, already walking decisively away from them.

“Wow,” Kate said bluntly, her elbow now propped up on Dick’s shoulder. “You’d think she’s never hit on anyone while being in a relationship before.”

Dick did _not_ snort into his ridiculously expensive champagne, but it was a very close thing.

* * *

Slowly, _oh so slowly,_ Dick came to terms with what he’d hidden away for so long. In his darkest moments, when he’d imagined telling someone about what he’d been through, he’d expected more blame. Disgust. Disavowment.

What he’d actually gotten was love, support, and _apologies_ of all things.

Turns out he was just one of many in his family that had slowly been drowning in shame. They all regretted that they hadn’t seen the signs fast enough, their own experiences and perceptions of him getting in the way.

Dick felt the same way about all of them, so he couldn’t exactly blame them for it.

Thank God for Tim Drake and Duke Thomas, he supposed. 

It had taken him a while, and more than one breakdown, to finally get to the point where he could admit that everything that had been building up wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t asked for any of it and he didn’t deserve it. 

After all, Kate had also been led to believe that someone else was her girlfriend, ruining her relationship, and there was no way in _hell_ he’d ever say that she was to blame for it.

Steph had also been held down by someone she was supposed to be able to trust, and still felt conflicted over their death. He would never tell her that she had led him on, though he would forever be thankful that she’d been able to get away before it escalated too far.

Tim had been looked at as nothing more than a conquest, a prize to be won.

Jason had spent a childhood dealing with comments from the shitstains of Gotham, lived with the fear that maybe one day he wouldn’t be fast enough (he’d always been the fastest in the family).

They didn’t always have the best track record, but they _were_ a family; all of them. And that meant that they supported each other. They looked out for each other.

On the days where Tim couldn’t drag himself out of bed, someone would sit on the floor and put on a movie, read a book, talk to him.

When Cass spent a day not speaking, they signed with her.

When Dick woke up screaming, tears blurring his vision and his throat feeling raw, he’d find Alfred standing in the doorway with a cup of tea; Bruce, kneeling by his bed, his arms open and eyes soft; Damian curled up next to him, hiding his face in Dick’s pillow as he waited for Dick to stop shaking enough to hug him.

They were all broken people, but they worked well together, despite all of the jagged edges. And they helped Dick accept that yes, he was a victim, but no, that didn’t have to mean anything if he didn’t want it to. His body was his, and so was his mind; no one else had a right to it, and he was pretty sure that Jason would shoot anyone that tried to make him think otherwise again.

It was probably for the best that Jason wasn’t here, then.

Another team-up for Nightwing, another group of people staring at him the second he turned around.

Things had been fine while there was still a drug cartel to bust. Several teams were working in tandem across the continent, taking down each faction simultaneously to prevent any single sect from taking over in the sudden power vacuum. Everything has been timed down to the minute, with Batman overseeing the whole operation and directing them. The team he’d been put in charge of had been serious and steady as they waited for the signal to go in, and Dick had been beyond thankful.

He didn’t have nearly as much of a problem as Bruce when it came to the more lighthearted heroes, but it still grated on his nerves to see a cocky smirk right before a critical moment.

Not everyone had superpowers or inhuman vulnerability. _Some_ people only had their incredibly human skills and reflexes to keep from getting shot in the face, which, despite what some of the League's members would lead you to believe, was a _problem._

Thankfully, the careful planning and timing had worked, and the worst any of them had to show for it was a bruise or two that would disappear within a few days. Dick had soared through the air, gravity unable to touch him as he dodged and kicked and flipped through the fray, taking down one man after another.

“Damn,” someone had mumbled under their breath at one point, though he hadn’t spared the concentration to figure out who.

When it was all said and done, and all the bad guys were restrained and awaiting transport, Dick turned around, turning on his comm.

“Nightwing,” he identified.

“Nightwing. Report,” Bruce’s gravelly voice responded a moment later.

“We’ve successfully subdued our group.” A small smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “Like taking candy from a baby,” he couldn’t stop himself from adding.

Bruce’s barely there sigh made Dick’s grin widen. “Acknowledged,” he grumbled, though he would never admit to it. “Rendezvous at the Watchtower as soon as local law enforcement arrive. Batman out.” With that, the line went blank.

Dick clicked the communicator off again, turning to face the rest of the room.

All of the targets were out cold, laying on the floor in the general heap the others had dropped them into.

“ETA?” he asked.

“Three minutes,” Wally chimed from where he was leaning against the wall, munching on a protein bar. His eyes were carefully watching the room, nonchalant as he appeared to be.

“Those were some pretty good moves there, Nightwing,” Blue Beetle added. 

Dick liked Ted. He was a pretty cool guy when you got to know him; not that Ted actually knew _Dick,_ not included in the list of people that knew the Bat’s identities. Dick had talked with the man during a few galas though, and he was generally a kind and smart man. Plus, anyone that was able to keep up a friendship with Booster Gold and stay sane and mostly grounded was alright in Dick’s book.

Dick didn’t like him quite as much as Tim did, though. The younger hero would never say it or mention it in any way to anyone, but Dick knew that Tim was just a little put out that Dick had been the one to get put in a group with Blue Beetle.

“I’ll say,” another hero added, leaning casually against one of the pillars that supported the roof of the building. Serena Jordan (no relation to Hal); The Midnight Onyx. She wasn’t anyone that Dick was overly familiar with, typically restricting her movements to the northwest coast.

Dick ignored her, smiling instead at Ted. “Thanks. You weren’t too shabby yourself.” He glanced over at Wally, who was watching the encounter amusedly. “Although _you_ could stand to pick up your feet a little,” he teased.

Wally rolled his eyes, groaning. “It’s always _something_ with you Bats,” he muttered, though Dick could hear the affection in his voice.

Serena pushed herself off of the concrete beam, walking over closer to him.

“Got any other moves?” she asked teasingly. “I hear you’re quite the gymnast.”

The words could’ve been nothing more than genuine banter if not for the tilt of her head, the way she lifted her voice. It was the same kind of thing he’d heard way too many times to count.

Dick saw Wally tense just enough to be noticeable out of the corner of his eye, and he couldn’t even begin to let his friend know how much that meant to him, but he was tired of other people having to run interference for him. He was tired of letting other people take what they wanted without so much as a _by your leave._

“Nothing for you, I’m afraid,” he said with a smile. Her pace faltered, just far enough away from him for it to be awkward. He turned away, moving to check up on the targets again. The action wasn’t actually necessary, but it felt good to see the way she stood there for a moment, looking a little stunned at his abrupt and casual dismissal.

“Ah,” she replied clumsily, her voice laced with confusion. “Someone else in your life, then?” Dick was glad that she was willing to back off. That was more than he usually got.

“No,” he replied easily, still moving amongst the unconscious bodies at his feet, crouching down to feel his pulse; slow, but steady. 

Dick almost didn’t want to turn around, but at the last second, he decided to face her again as he stood up again. He caught the way her eyes immediately moved up, averting from his gaze.

“My eyes are up here, you know,” he said. Her eyes flicked to his, which he knew were still covered in an unnervingly opaque white, and he could read the guilt on her face.

The last member of his team spoke up from where he was relaxing on top of a pile of crates, his arm slung over his raised knee. “Yeah, but the best view is a little lower than that.” He had a small smirk on his face, his head tilted just so and _damn,_ could no one take a hint?

“I know, the fingerstripes _are_ pretty great,” he shot back, crossing his arms to display the blue stripes that ran down his arms. He could see Wally straightening up, his eyes narrowed.

The other man, Aaron Adder, Crane (and Dick couldn’t help but hate him just a little more for the chosen name), just smiled at him. “Not quite what I meant, but they _are_ a nice sight,” he agreed. “They’re not your best feature, though.”

Dick walked over to him, steps slow and precise. He passed Serena, her gaze fixed on the men he’d just walked away from.

He stopped just shy of Aaron, and stared directly into his eyes, fully aware that the other man couldn’t reciprocate. “And just what _is_ my best feature?” he demanded quietly, all the playfulness in his tone frozen over.

Aaron’s smile faltered. His eyes flicked down for half of a second before he blinked and they were up again. Dick honestly would’ve missed it if he hadn’t been so close.

Dick let him stew in silence a moment longer before pitching his voice so that it would carry just far enough. “Go ahead and stare at my ass again,” he challenged, “see what happens. I’m not quite as easy as you and everyone else seem to think.”

Another second passed where Dick could’ve heard a pin dropping on the floor before he silently turned away, his practiced footsteps making no sound as he walked across the room. He knew it always made the metas uncomfortable.

He saw the way Ted was smiling softly at the ground when he passed him, and maybe he _did_ understand Tim’s blatant like for the man just a little bit more.

Wally was grinning at him as Dick approached, looking more satisfied than Dick could remember seeing him in a long time. Dick made sure his face would be hidden from the rest of the room before he smiled back.

**Author's Note:**

> i think my favorite section to write was definitely cass’s, but kate was by far my favorite interaction to do (god i love kate kane so much)  
> also, i’m not sure how well it worked out, but i kind of tried to give each section a slightly different tone from the last one, so i hope you enjoyed that! if not, sorry for constantly switching verb tenses on you, lmao  
> kudos, by the way, if you recognize where i got the names for a certain reporter and socialite from
> 
> also ! just to clear up steph's section a little: i did write it from dick's perspective while he's still under the influence of fear toxin, so i just want to clarify that the thugs in question weren't doing anything besides beating him up. the other hands he feels on him are part of the hallucination and also a little bit of ptsd and flashbacks. and with him screaming like that (in my mind, he would probably be yelling some of the same lines from the nightwing comic with tarantula, ie "no" "stop" "get away"), steph wouldn't hesitate to put a stop to it and probably come to the slightly wrong conclusion. the thugs in question were just calling him pretty boy and stuff like that because it "degrades" dick and he showed a reaction to it, which they would immediately pounce on as a weakness  
> but anyways, that's just what was going on in that scene in my mind as i was writing it, if anyone wanted the version that's slightly less slanted


End file.
